


Can't breathe unless she's the air

by penny



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Spoilers, magic kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-17
Updated: 2011-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:05:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penny/pseuds/penny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been a long time since they've spent time on the coast. Balthier always means to visit more often. Fran finds ocean air invigorating, and while he enjoys her company no matter the setting, she <em>is</em> at her most creative on their costal jaunts.</p><p>"I am yours to command."</p><p>"Rare words from a leading man." Her voice is thick with amusement, and her ears curl towards him, a sign that she's devoting all of her attention to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't breathe unless she's the air

**Author's Note:**

> This is set when the team goes to Balfonheim, but vague character spoilers extend beyond that point.

It is Fran who suggests they take a full day to rest at Balfonheim before seeking out Giruvegan. She's right. They are all exhausted and would do well to accept Reddas's offer of clean rooms, hot food, and warm baths. But...that Cid was and wasn't the father Balthier-once-Ffamran remembers, though it's certainly easiest to say there's nothing of his father left. Balthier finds himself unsettled (all this time, Venat was real, but what does it change?), finds too much of Ffamran in his thoughts (maybe enough). It makes him want to argue to push on now, because out in the wilderness, thoughts beyond battle strategy, camp logistics, navigation, _survival_ are luxuries Balthier cannot afford. Ffamran will recede without an outlet. There is no helping his father. If not Venat, something else would have served for the catalyst for his madness. The fact Venat is real...no, that's Ffamran's thought.

The princess saves him from making a fool of himself by arguing. She, of course, wants to leave _now_ , but she also wants to be convinced resting is for the best. There is a craving in her eyes, and Basch, ever the good knight, responds the way she needs. "One day's rest will not delay us. We travel slower tired, and we also risk making a costly mistake."

"Fine." She purses her lips tight, but some of the tension loosens from her shoulders.

"We are in agreement, then?" Fran asks the question of everyone, but she holds Balthier's gaze.

For a moment, Vaan looks like he will protest, but Penelo -- clever girl, that one -- says, "The baths _do_ sound tempting."

Ah, a cue. Balthier grins. "It's one of the things Archadia does right." Now, a sly glance at the princess. "Even you would agree," a bow, over the top, but he is not always a _kind_ leading man, "your highness."

She does not rise to his bait, but no matter. His act has served its purpose. He is fully Balthier again, at least for now.

"Yes, I would." The princess turns to Penelo. "I believe they're this way. Shall we?"

"Mmmhmm!" Penelo's eyes are bright as she hops down from her perch and leaves with the princess.

"We should follow," Basch says to Vaan. He smiles faintly at Vaan's expression, embarrassed and hopeful. "We will be separated from the ladies. You do not want to let me catch you trying to spy."

Vaan glowers at him. "I wouldn't spy."

Basch chuckles and clasps a comradely hand on Vaan's shoulder to guide him out of the room. "Then you are a better man than I was at your age."

Fran is still watching him. Balthier waits. They've been together long enough that he always knows when she intends to say more. "You could use a bath as well, but you have no intention of joining them."

He fusses with his cuffs. All of his clothes are dirty from hard travel. He'd do well to take advantage of Balfonheim's laundry service, though he'd pay hard gil to have everything clean by the time they leave, and while one must keep up appearances, it seems like too much effort this very moment. "Judging by the bottles, Reddas has a stash of my favorite southern Archadian red. A good vintage, too. Perhaps he'll share."

Fran's ears twitch, but she does not voice her displeasure. Good. He only intends to share one bottle, perhaps two if Reddas is willing.

He shares three, and he and Reddas stop only because a fourth bottle would bring out their old selves, and neither of them wants _that_ conversation. So they remain Balthier and Reddas and part as two drunk pirates who will need Esuna in the morning.

He sleeps alone -- Reddas had given each of their own room, small with a single narrow bed and locking chest, but none of them need more -- but he wakes to Fran sitting on the windowsill. The window overlooks the port, and she's backlit by the morning sun so she looks unearthly.

His only discomfort is the heavy press of a full bladder. Archadian red always gives him a hangover, so Fran has already extended him one kindness this morning. "How long since you cast Esuna?"

"Three hours now." She tilts her head back. "We've one until noon."

"A good thing you convinced us to rest, then." He rises. "You'll excuse me?"

"For a shower as well as relief, I hope."

He does smell sour. "You've plans that will keep me from enjoying a bath?"

"For this afternoon, if you are willing. I claim no hold over your evening."

"I'd give it to you."

She remains still, not even a twitch of her ears. She can say so much with a well-timed swivel. "I claim a night of rest. We set off early tomorrow."

It's the closest she'll come to forbidding him another night with Reddas and his southern Archadian red. It's just as well. The drunken leading man makes for a poor story, one that wouldn't feature Fran. "A day with my leading lady. How can I refuse?"

She huffs out something he chooses to take as a chuckle as he leaves to tend to his needs. The shower revives him as much as Fran's Esuna. He returns to his room curious about what she has in store. He doesn't quite go as far as to flatter himself that she suggested this day of rest so she could claim a private moment with him, but, like him, she will take advantage of such a situation. He should have given her last night, though he would have been poor company.

She is still sitting on the windowsill when he returns. He nudges the door shut with his heel and leans against it, smirking. "Do I smell better now?"

"Yes, but it is still not the scent I seek." She rises. "The door locks."

"And the window shuts tight?"

"Yes, but I find the air refreshing. It is so different from the Wood."

It has been a long time since they've spent time on the coast. He always means to visit more often. Fran finds ocean air invigorating, and while he enjoys her company no matter the setting, she _is_ at her most creative on their costal jaunts.

"I am yours to command."

"Rare words from a leading man." Her voice is thick with amusement, and her ears curl towards him, a sign that she's devoting all of her attention to him.

He bows, a playful one, not the foppish one that had been in fashion when he'd been Ffamran. "I utter them often enough for you."

"True." She reaches up and removes her helmet and the tie for her hair and sets them both on the windowsill. She is always beautiful, but she is even more beautiful without her helmet because she does not remove it except for intimate moments. The people she allows to see her bare head, her white hair flowing free over her shoulders, are true friends, and Balthier is honored to be among that small number.

She rubs at the base of her left ear, then cocks it towards him. "I would give you the time to talk about the past if that is what you wish."

"No."

She nods as if she expected his refusal. "Then will you give me the time to seek mutual pleasure?"

He can feel her reach for the Mist. The room suddenly feels humid, and there's the ghostly scent of the jungle, the deep, secret Wood. Balthier arches an eyebrow. "This is a new game. What do you intend?"

"To Immobilize you, if you will allow it."

Only Fran can reduce him to a tongue-tied boy. The idea of her casting it on him, arranging him as _she_ pleases, taunting him with her flesh he cannot touch unless she guides his hands, his mouth, to it...it makes his throat dry. He nods because he cannot form words, and further expresses his consent by stripping, his fingers slow and clumsy as if she'd already cast the spell. But no, it is only her words having this effect on him.

Her eyes are dark and warm with lust when he moves back to the bed. She's stripped it down to the bottom sheet in his absence, folded the top sheet and the light blanket neatly and set them on top of the chest. He stands at the foot of the bed, enjoying the beginning of his arousal. He is not hard, but he is thickening, and the weight of his balls is a pleasant ache. It helps him find his voice. "And will you silence me, too?"

She shakes her head. "I wish for us both to know you can end this at any time."

So his submission is a continuous choice. _That_ hits him low, lust making his limbs feel watery. "Yes," he breathes, his voice rough and raw. "Please, yes."

It earns him a rare smile from Fran. Magic dances in the room between them, builds until there's an eerie green nimbus surrounding Fran, whipping her hair and silk at her torso and then she casts the spell. It wraps around him, warm and heavy.

He cannot move. Fran steps up to him, so close he can smell her, fresh and clean from last night's bath. She'd used cedar soap, a sharp scent that compliments her natural musk, and it makes him want to pull her to him and nuzzle her neck.

She reaches out to him, trails a claw lightly along the line of the collarbone, then across his chest to press her palm over his heart. Her claws prick at his skin, not painful, but his inability to moves makes him more aware of them.

If she wished to, Fran could kill him now. Viera claws are sharp, and Fran keeps hers long, lacquered for extra strength. The knowledge, and his current helplessness, makes him dizzy, but it also makes him want this _more_ , almost makes him want to Silence himself so he has no escape, but this constant choice makes every moment a gift to Fran, a fitting return since she will make every act a gift to him.

"Fran." It's a plea and a prayer and who knows what else.

"Your pulse quickens." She steps back, keeps the contact for a moment longer, then lowers her hand.

"In anticipation." He has enough control to smile. It feels smaller than he intended, the Immobilize influencing even his facial muscles. Fran's control is growing.

"Mine as well." She begins unbuckling her armor. She removes each piece slowly, making a game of teasing him. His desire to reach out and touch her, graze his palms over the soft fur on her stomach, feeling tight muscles beneath, makes his palms itch.

"You're lovely." He wants to touch her so much. Need makes him tremble.

She is amazing. Dark skin, pert breasts, fur gleaming in the sun, the curls on her mound dark and moist. She always seems more dangerous to Balthier naked. Her armor leaves little to the imagination, but naked, there is no denying her sharp claws, tight muscles, and coiled reflexes. He never forgets those attributes, but some fools have been known to mistake Viera for delicate creatures.

"Such a silver tongue. Would you use it in other ways?"

"To tease honey from you."

She steps forward and presses against him, chuckling. "If I allow it." She strokes his shoulders, kneads the base of his neck briefly before cupping the base of his skull, claws light against his scalp, and leaning in to claim a kiss.

He opens his mouth to her. She's demanding, and there's a moment, a brief one, when it's tempting to wrestle her for control. He'd lose -- Fran seems determined to lead this encounter, and he cannot deny her -- but the struggle would be thrilling. But what is more thrilling is his choice to keep submitting.

She ends the kiss with a playful nip on his lower lip. Hers are slick and plump, and he knows his must be as well. And he hopes his eyes are as lust-lidded as hers. He _is_ fully hard now, but that alone seems an inadequate sign of his arousal. His whole body should show it since it is so overwhelming.

She guides his hand to her chest, over her heart. It's rapid beat drums up through his palm, seems to echo in his head, though he knows that's his lust playing tricks with his mind. Tricks he welcomes, because it is only fitting that she consume him for the duration of this game, that she become his world.

"To prove my word," she says, bringing his hand up to her throat so the pads of his first two fingers lingered over her pulse point. "Anticipation excites me as well." She pulls his hand up to her chin, fanning his fingers out over her mouth to lick each in turn.

"I..." His throat is dry, and swallowing does little to wet it. "I never doubt your word."

"Trust that is hard to win and easy to lose." She bites at the pad of his middle finger, then dips her tongue down to trace the curve of his rings. "I would not have you any other way."

"A pity. I was hoping you'd have me many ways."

Fran does not laugh, but delight flares in her eyes, and a wicked smile tugs at her mouth. She lowers his hand. "Then you've no objection to being arranged on the bed?"

"None."

Her right ear twitches, not towards the window, where a gull circles close with a piercing cry, and not towards the door, indicating someone he can not yet hear approaches, so it's an uncertain gesture. She is being careful with him, taking extra care to not overstep any bounds.

Well, it's appreciated, but he cannot fathom her pushing him too far. This particular game is new, but their partnership is not. "If I've any objection, I need only break the Immobilize. But if you want more comfort, I can ask you for another Esuna if you prove too much."

She nods. "You need only say the word."

"I do hope this means you won't be a tease."

Her smile widens. "Teasing is the point, but I will not deny you release."

He has no quick comeback, but Fran is a kind leading lady. She takes another kiss, so he can claim she cut off his exceedingly clever reply, one hand tracing lazy circles on his hip, the other stroking his length. And then the next thing he knows, he's on the bed, head propped almost uncomfortably high on the pillow, and Fran is straddling him, the folds of her cunt tantalizingly close as she bends over him, one hand circled around the base of his cock. He has no idea how Fran managed to muddle his mind so throughly with just a kiss, but she destroys it when her mouth closes over him.

He can't even manage a moan. The sound he makes is more of a mew, and Fran makes a pleased little sound of her own, one he _feels_ strum through his cock as she takes it deeper into her throat. She wiggles her hips, and oh, she's so close he can smell her. His mouth waters, and he licks his lips. It is all he can do, and it is maddening because she is _right there_ , and he so wants to close that short distance between him, bury his face between her and lavish her with _more_ attention than what she is giving him. He wants to feel her tremble around him, drink in her salty musk, mark himself with her arousal so she'll smell herself on him for their entire journey to Giruvegan. He is hers, only hers, always hers, but he cannot move to prove it to her.

He can't even knot his fingers in the covers as a small outlet for his frustration. Her control is absolute, and oh, she circles her hand tight around him to deny him immediate release.

"Please," he says, "Fran please. I want to taste you."

She ignores him, brings him to the brink once more, then again, and then he loses track. Her thighs are slick now, and her scent fills his world, collects in the back of his throat so he can almost taste her, and it's cruel, so cruel, because it's not the same as actually tasting her and bringing her to the brink, reducing her to a panting moaning mass of need just as she's reduced him.

He strains against the spell, tries to reach her, and there's a moment when his head does lift from the pillow. A hair's width, not nearly enough to get him to his goal, but a promising sign. Then she takes him deep and lets him come, and -- perhaps it's because the spell restrains him so throughly -- it's more intense that anything he's ever felt. And when he's recovered, he's all loose-limbed and relaxed, nearly liquid against the pillow and mattress, and there is no way he can muster whatever strength he had before to lift his head.

Fran swings up off him, knee brushing lightly over his chest as she gets off the bed. Her scent lingers even after she moves out of his field of vision.

Balthier catches his breath. "You are cruel."

The mattress dips, and she raises his hands above his head, adjusts the pillow so his neck rests at a more comfortable angle. "Not cruel." She settles back over him, knees pressed beneath his arms, and then she hitches her hips forward, tucks one hand under his head. "Simply not done, since you're hoping I'll have you many ways."

He laughs. Yes, yes he is. She guides him to her, and he lets her become his world.


End file.
